<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>you and your love by widomauk</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25005955">you and your love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/widomauk/pseuds/widomauk'>widomauk</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Fluff, M/M, Married Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Sort of introspective, Unbeta-ed, We Die Like Men, reflecting on viktor's family, they're just IN LOVE!!!!!!!!!!!, viktor and yuuri being in love, viktor and yuuri living in st. petersburg, viktor being hopelessly in love, viktor realizing that he actually has a lot of love around him, yuuri also being hopelessly in love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:01:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,274</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25005955</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/widomauk/pseuds/widomauk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Viktor skims his fingers along the books on his shelves. There’s no dust, no indication he hasn’t lived here in over a year. His housekeeper, Helena, still looks after the place, and stocked the kitchen for their return. Viktor sets about figuring out breakfast. </p>
<p>The water shuts off in the bathroom and he can hear Yuuri puttering around in their bedroom. Viktor grins goofily to himself. It’s so new to him, sharing this empty place with someone other than Makkachin. </p>
<p>“Viten’ka!” Yuuri calls, “I’m hungry!”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>139</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you and your love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>WHAT??? two fics in ONE MONTH? who am i? that's right, i'm in love with these two and want their happiness and love to be documented. this fic is sort of weird? it's basically viktor reflecting on his family/being in love with yuuri and realizing just how okay it is to need other people. adorable, we love to see it. also please enjoy little hints of my headcanon: viktor has curly/wavy hair that he straightens. give us the curls, viktor. anyway, i hope you love it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hasetsu in the summer is a different breed. Viktor has learned that short sleeved shirts just won’t cut it sometimes, and forgoes clothing entirely. Nights are sticky and hot, and Viktor grows used to his sweat cooling on his skin and burrowing under blankets as a result. When Yuuri begins crawling between the covers with him, Viktor mouths at the join between his shoulder and neck, the soft skin salty under his tongue. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri visits in July. Yakov gives  him a reprieve for a week to visit Japan, with a promise that he’ll take advantage of Ice Castle Hasetsu. Viktor and Yuuri will leave with Yuri, and join Yakov back in St. Petersburg to begin their training.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They venture down to the beach one day. The air is thick with heat and Makkachin pants alongside them. Once they reach the sand, Yuuri drops her leash and she streaks towards the water, foam spraying up around her paws as she runs into the cool waves, snapping at the surf. Viktor follows, whooping as he goes, shedding his t-shirt and sandals. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yuuri stands back and watches, digs his toes into the sand. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sun sinks lower in the sky. Viktor’s shoulders are reddening and Yuuri forces more sunscreen on him and Yuri. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yuuri notes the spread of freckles along Viktor’s face and shoulders. He imagines, later, running searching fingers across them, feeling Viktor shiver beneath him. Viktor will tangle his fingers in Yuuri’s growing hair, Yuuri will complain he needs a haircut, and Viktor will tug and insist that he keep it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri lights a sparkler as the sky turns purple and gold and races down the beach, Makkachin in hot pursuit. Viktor lights one and presses a salt-water kiss to Yuuri’s mouth, all tongue and teeth. Yuuri sinks into Viktor’s body heat, careful of his sunburn as he kisses back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Viktor takes off after Yuri, stumbling as he goes, laughing. Yuuri likes Viktor’s laugh. It isn’t anything like the one he gives the public; polite and sweet as it is. No, the real Viktor laughs wild and free. He wheezes, snorts, cackles, a deep belly laughter that echoes wherever it goes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Viktor calls to him, then. Yuuri lights his own sparkler and follows. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The first time Viktor left the country without his parents was the season he only skated to ABBA. He singed his hair on the straightener in the hotel room, screaming at the top of his lungs until Yakov burst in, unplugged the straightener from the wall and pried it from Viktor’s incapable hands. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stupid boy,” Yakov had chided, before plugging it back in and doing it himself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Viktor won bronze at Junior Worlds with ABBA and had to chop off the ends of his hair when he got home. His father had grunted his approval and ruffled Viktor’s hair. His mother, back from her Swiss business trip, had congratulated him with a puppy. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yakov took him to get the tags engraved:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Makkachin Viktorovich Nikiforova</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>February 2001</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>If Found Please Call:</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>+7 xxxx-xxxx</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Viktor wakes up to lips on his neck, a hand trailing below the covers. Yuuri’s hair tickles his nose and Viktor sneezes, startling them both. Yuuri laughs openly, mouth against his throat. “Good morning, Vitya,” he giggles. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Viktor turns, wrapping his arms around Yuuri and pressing him into the mattress. “It is,” he agrees, capturing Yuuri’s lips. They got into St. Petersburg the night before, collapsing into the large bed after dinner, any ideas about sex thrown out the window and into the river.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What shall we do with it?” Yuuri wonders, hands back at work, reaching for Viktor’s cock. “I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>starving.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They crawl out of bed an hour later, thoroughly sated and actually hungry. Yuuri hogs the shower while Viktor wanders into his kitchen for tea. It’s strange being back here, after spending so long away. He forgot how industrial it was. The ceilings are high, windows overlooking the Neva and a large, concrete kitchen island big enough for five. It only ever sat him, and occasionally Yuri, Mila, and Georgi if he was lucky. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Viktor skims his fingers along the books on his shelves. There’s no dust, no indication he hasn’t lived here in over a year. His housekeeper, Helena, still looks after the place, and stocked the kitchen for their return. Viktor sets about figuring out breakfast. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The water shuts off in the bathroom and he can hear Yuuri puttering around in </span>
  <em>
    <span>their </span>
  </em>
  <span>bedroom. Viktor grins goofily to himself. It’s so new to him, sharing this empty place with someone other than Makkachin. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Viten’ka!” Yuuri calls, “I’m hungry!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Viktor learned to cook from his grandmother, Valentina. He used to stand on a stool stirring stew while she chopped vegetables. His hair, sensitive to heat, frizzed up and curled under the steam. Valentina bustled around the ancient kitchen, handing him ingredients to add to the stew, under the instruction of “however much you think it needs, Vitya,” before going back to chopping. There were many disasters when it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>however much you think </span>
  </em>
  <span>but Valentina was always able to salvage a disaster. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Viktor’s parents left him with his grandparents often before he started skating competitively. Their dacha became his second home. Viktor’s grandfather, Mikhail, taught him to skate on the frozen pond behind the cottage. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Viktor takes Yuuri to the dacha a few months into their life in St. Petersburg. His father held onto it after Viktor’s grandparents died, and has been taking care of it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The door was painted recently, a cherry red his grandmother would have liked. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They walk in, house silent. The furniture is the same it’s always been, his grandfather’s rocking chair perched in front of the old boxy television. The curtains are drawn over the windows, and Viktor opens them to let light in. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yuuri wanders around, holding himself delicately, afraid to breathe wrong in such a precious place. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dedka would have loved him, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Viktor realizes with a sudden pang. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They would have danced together.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Viktor brushes dust off the record player. There’s still a record on it, an opera his babka would have loved. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me about them,” Yuuri whispers. Dust clings to the sunlight in the room. Viktor thinks of himself running through here, chasing their little toy poodle, hair longer and curlier than it is now. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Viktor crosses into the kitchen. He remembers being here when his grandmother had men come to put in new marble countertops. She had complained for years that her old ones would stain too easily. Viktor had secretly given money to his grandfather to have them changed, after his first sponsorship. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Valentina Nikiforova,” he murmurs, brushing a hand over the cool marble. Viktor pats the old stool that’s still next to the stove. Yuuri sits. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I used to stand on that stool and help her cook. She taught me, you know.” Yuuri follows his gaze to the stove. “Her borscht was to die for. She would have liked to feed you.” Yuuri smiles at him encouragingly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Viktor hops up onto the counter. The first time he had done it when Valentina was in the kitchen she had chased him out, shouting threats as he ran, scrambling over Mikhail’s legs. “The first time I won a medal, she fed me until I couldn’t breathe. Then, she made me cook dinner.” He grins. “My dedka would have liked you. He loved to dance. She loved opera, he loved ballet.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yuuri looks surprised at this. “I didn’t know any of your family danced.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, yes!” Viktor looks off into the living room. He can see the television poking around the corner. “Dedka liked sports, especially dance. He taught me how to skate, too. He wasn’t much of an athlete, but he took me to see the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nutcracker </span>
  </em>
  <span>when he had the money.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yuuri follows his gaze to the television. “What did you watch together?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hockey, but the Olympics were the best. One year, during the Olympics, he told my parents to get me skating lessons.” Viktor’s eyes burn. “I really owe everything to him.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yuuri squeezes his hand, running a gentle thumb over his knuckles. “I wish I could have met him.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Viktor nods, tears running down his cheeks. “Me too,” he rasps. Yuuri kneels on the stool and pulls Viktor into a hug. Viktor hiccups and grabs onto Yuuri’s shirt. “I love you,” he whispers. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yuuri brushes a stray piece of hair out of Viktor’s eyes, pressing a gentle kiss to the bridge of his nose. “I love you,” Yuuri whispers back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yuuri spends a lot of time in Lilia’s studio, and he and Viktor have been dancing the tango for hours now. Viktor hasn’t done the tango since their fateful meeting at the Grand Prix Final banquet. Yuuri is even more alluring this time around. He’s dressed in his black practice leggings and one of Viktor’s shirts, fast footwork setting Viktor’s blood on fire. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>Viktor presses Yuuri up against the mirrors during a break,</span> <span>sensual tango playing in the background. Viktor gets his hands up under Yuuri’s shirt, hands skating over his abdomen. Yuuri shivers, hooks a leg around Viktor’s waist, and grinds their hips together. </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sky is a deep purple, sun slipping further behind the horizon. Yuuri and Viktor huddle together for warmth, hands linked in Viktor’s pocket. Makkachin strolls along beside them, sniffing at random spots on the ground where something must have peed or died. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Viktor is nearly disappointed when they get home, no longer needing to squish Yuuri against him for warmth. Regardless, he winds his arms around his husband’s waist and pulls him close. Shamelessly, Viktor breathes him in deeply, pressing his nose into Yuuri’s neck. “You smell so good,” he rumbles. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I have to shower,” Yuuri laughs. Regardless, he pulls Viktor into a deep kiss. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Viktor hums happily. He grips Yuuri’s waist tight, pressing the line of their bodies together. “I missed you today,” he whispers when they pull away for air. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We spent most of it together,” Yuuri points out. He pokes Viktor’s forehead. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not enough,” Viktor says, smacking a wet kiss to Yuuri’s cheek. Yuuri grumbles and wipes at it, grinning despite himself. “Can I shower with you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yuuri tucks his hands into Viktor’s back pockets. “I expect nothing less.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Summer comes in with a balmy breeze. Viktor, despite having traveled all over the world, is still terrible at packing. When he moved to Hasetsu, he had just shipped all of his things ahead and only packed the bare minimum. They’re going for a month now, not to stay, and Yuuri has been packed for a week. Viktor contemplates his underwear for long enough that Yuuri checks on him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Need help?” He asks, poking his head through the doorway, all fluffed black hair, fresh from a shower. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Viktor hums in affirmation, shifting through shirts he knows Yuuri likes on him. “How do you pack for such a long trip?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Didn’t you move your whole life to Hasetsu once?” Viktor waves him away.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I paid Helena to ship it all. And packing for competitions isn’t nearly as complicated.” Viktor throws a pair of shorts off to the side. They don’t match anything he’s thinking of bringing. Yuuri steps up behind him and winds himself around Viktor. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You smell nice,” Yuuri kisses into Viktor’s shoulder blades. “Go eat some lunch, I’ll sort you out.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Viktor turns in Yuuri’s arms. “Will you? I’d love that, darling.” He presses his nose against Yuuri’s cheek. “You’re so good to me.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm,” Yuuri kisses him, licking into his mouth. “Aren’t I?” He squeezes Viktor’s ass and steps away, laughing when Viktor whines at him. “Go. Eat. Leave me to work my magic.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Viktor leaves, and Yuuri cracks his knuckles, wiggles his fingers, and sets to work. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Their flight to Japan is early, so Viktor makes sure he and Yuuri are properly exhausted by the time they go to sleep. At three, they drag themselves from their cocoon of blankets and to the airport. Makkachin, too old to travel by this point, is staying with Yuri, likely harassing Potya. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They make it through security and Yuuri sets off to find them coffee, bleary-eyed and rumpled. Viktor watches him go, half-lidded eyes sliding down Yuuri’s frame. Sometimes, Viktor can’t believe this is his life. A year ago, he, Yuuri, and Yuri were in Hasetsu preparing for Viktor and Yuuri to move to St. Petersburg. Now, they’re married, and going home to see Yuuri’s family. Viktor </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>Yuuri’s family. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After his grandparents died, Viktor never knew if he would have that kind of love ever again. His parents love him, but they don’t know how to do it properly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he’s in Hasetsu, Viktor feels like he belongs. Yuuri’s family took him in the moment they met him.  Coming home to St. Petersburg, he came home to Yakov, Lilia, Yuri, Mila, and Georgi. Viktor spent so long shutting himself off, that he never realized just how many people he had who loved him. Yuuri opened his home and heart to Viktor. He allowed Viktor to do the same. Looking at Yuuri, walking towards Viktor with two cups of steaming coffee, Viktor understands deeply just how loved he is. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <span>Yuuri sits beside him, tucking himself into Viktor’s side to sap his warmth. He hands Viktor the coffee, dark with vanilla and some cream, and presses a gentle kiss to Viktor’s cheek. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yuuri knows my order, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Viktor’s heart cries as he takes the first sip. They have another hour until boarding. Yuuri slots their hands together, fits himself into the curve of Viktor’s body. Hasetsu is only a plane ride away, and Viktor can already feel the heat. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WELL??? what did you think??? tell me! comments make my heart sing. if you wanna cry about viktuuri you can find me on twitter @/pplikeppl.  see u next level. or maybe in the next fic!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>